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Hey, Future Beth, when you run across

this post in the archives, put on Either/Or right now.

Sorry that it’s been so, so long since you’ve heard from me. (Special thanks to Tim, who did such a fantastic job of reviewing Bettie Serveert last week, thereby letting me not feel guilty for my lack of updating-ness.)

Truly, I was just hoping to start an Internet rumor that I had gone to China with Mimi Smartypants.

I guess I’ve just been putting off the inevitable rehash of my trip to New York. It was fun, don’t get me wrong. I haven’t been that fabulously hedonistic in many years. But the reality was that I was pretty much ready to go home by Saturday evening. I missed my son. I missed my husband. I couldn’t sleep.

After my swimming-headed post on Friday morning, Jennie and I headed out to explore her neighborhood in Brooklyn. It’s called Park Slope, and every brownstone looked just like the ones on the Cosby Show. It was amazing. I keep telling everyone that “if I could live in a house like Jennie’s, even I would live in Brooklyn.” As if that’s saying anything. Everyone knows that I would move to New York in a flash if only my sainted mother wouldn’t be brokenhearted.

Anyway, back to wandering. We had bagels and coffee (or was it water?). We browsed in a couple of shops, I think. I definitely remember that we bought flowers and Jennie bought some groceries.

We headed into lower Manhattan, stopping at Katz’s Deli for lunch. And it was transcendent pastrami, indeed, Tim. The potato pancakes were pretty OK. It wasn’t like Jennie and I were fighting over the last one, at any rate. (The true measure of any potato pancake)

We visited Other Music, where I picked up the new Death Cab for Cutie record. It is excellent, if virtually unlistenable, as I become a suicidal teenager sobbing over lost loves with every song.

We wandered around SoHo, popping into neat little shops with overpriced designer clothes in European sizes and cool tchotkies that I would never have a place for. We ended up at this great store called Kate’s Paperie, I think. Jennie tried to talk me into buying the cutest wiener dog Christmas cards, but I just couldn’t justify the $18 for 8 cards pricetag. I’m such a stick in the mud.

We eventually made our way to my desired destination, a trendy yarn store called Purl. It ended up being really, really tiny, but the vibe was very different from any yarn store I’ve been in here in STL. For one, everyone was under the age of 35 (diametrically opposed to here). And there were no prices on any of the skeins, which I took as a bad sign for my pocketbook. One of those, “if you have to ask, you can’t afford it” kind of things. But there was a young woman there seaming a really cool sweater (God knows how much the yarn cost to knit it), and the window displays were worth seeing. Long story short, I didn’t buy a damn thing. Especially not the $150 knitting needle pouch.

Jennie and I were trading yawns at this point, so we headed back to the subway to Brooklyn. I had just enough time to freshen up, change clothes and get back on the Subway for Union Square to meet Roberta. I left Jennie asleep on the couch. It feels good to have tuckered out a full-time New Yorker!

Roberta and I walked up to a trendy new barbecue restaurant called Blue Smoke, to meet our other friends. The bar was pretty nice — I enjoyed my Brooklyn Brown Ale, to be sure. We stayed for about an hour, until deciding to head for my friends’ favorite sushi restaurant, Yama. Since there was a long wait for a table, we put our names in and wound our way down to a bar by Irving Plaza called Revival. They had the Cubs game on, so the time went by quickly as the beers and conversation flowed easily.

Once we were finally, finally seated at Yama, the restaurant proved totally worth the wait. The sushi was amazing — perfect cuts of fish that were just huge. And the sake bombers weren’t bad, either. God help me.

After dinner, we headed back to the previous bar to watch the end of the game. At one point, Roberta and I went out to the patio area to get away from the din and have a chat. A few minutes later, three young men sat down on the benches across from us and started chatting. Turns out that they are film students at NYU, one from London, one from South Africa and one from LA. Cool. We finish our drinks and go back inside.

We walk up to the bar and Roberta tells our friends, “Beth and I just got hit on outside by these three cute college guys.” And I’m like, “Really? Those guys were hitting on us?! Let’s go back out there!” We have a good laugh over that one, and I realize just how domesticated I am. Time for another round!

The game eventually ends. I talk my friend Mike into one more drink at a bar by his house in Brooklyn. I have no idea what time I made it back to Jennie’s house, what time I went to bed. All I know is that I was up again by 5, revisiting my sushi in one of Jennie’s many bathrooms. No fun.

Woo hoo, New York!

I’m going to bed now. You’ll just have to wait to hear about Saturday…

Tuesday night, despite Beth being just 48 hours removed from New York, we decided to go see a rock show. Bettie Serveert, came to town apparently for the first time in 8 years. Their first record, Palomine, is ten years old, but has remained in my regular rotation off and on for that entire decade. They’ve released at 4 or 5 full length records since then, but we’ve only heard the first two.

In most cases like this, I approach the show with trepidation, or decide not to go at all. I have this romanticised vision of a band that I developed long ago, and in nearly every case, the performance simply cannot match my hopes. And let me tell you, arriving at the show didn’t really help to soothe any of those fears. Upon arrival, there’s a good, but not great solo performer singing with an acoustic guitar on stage. There are only about 30 people milling around, with very few of them in the under 28 demographic. Very few “in the know” college kids anywhere, meaning that the recent records have gone completely over the heads of the indie rock crowd. To top it off, Beetle Bob is rocking to the guy with the guitar. Ugh.

Anyway, Beth and I sat down, and the place slowly started filling up. G showed up, and we talked with him for a while as the acoustic guy played perfect background music for conversation. His brother said hello, and went back upstairs to watch the end of Game 6 of the NLCS. It was from him that we learned about the blown game. You can try and convince yourself otherwise, but I think there is a curse.

So, before Bettie takes the stage, there are probably 100 – 150 people in the room. Most of whom could be labled “music geek” types as G put it. That’s a far more comforting demographic at least, but the crowd is still pretty old. Beetle Bob unfortunately doesn’t leave, but is joined by a couple of other interesting characters. One guy looking much like Matt Dillon’s character in “Singles”, but aged another 5 years and sporting a horrible neck beard. He was really into the show, and seemed to be crooning to Beetle Bob at points during the show.

Then there’s another guy at the side of the stage wearing leather pants and an Estrus Records t-shirt, pushing 50 with the face of a younger Joe Cocker, and the build and snakey dance of a young Axl Rose. Axl Joe as I dubbed him was completely hammered before the show even started, and was a nice comic sidelight through about half the show before he disappeared. At one point, he passed out on the bass players’ monitor, with his head to the speaker and a cigarette burning.

So, the show. What is Bettie Serveert going to do? Imagine our shock when the first chords played are the title track from their first record, Palomine. And they rocked it. No lackluster, OK, thanks for coming, here’s one for the old people. They wanted to play it, and they drew everybody into the show with one fell swoop. Carol Van Dijk’s voice was awesome, with every bit of the depth you’ve ever heard on those records. Lead guitarist, Peter Visser, pulled off every one of the songs with energy and passion. The sound was clean and the band was tight. No pretension, no world weary looks or banter, just 4 people on stage who looked like they were having a blast getting to play rock songs to a hundred or so people on a Tuesday night in the midwest. The drummer was the best, apparently being a new addition to the band, this was his first ever trip to America, and he had huge grin the entire night.

They played 3 more songs from Palomine during the course of the night. Kid’s Alright, Tom Boy, and Leg. Leg on the album is the opener that builds and gets quiet, and builds again. I love that song, and never thought I’d hear it live. Well, I got my wish and then some, because it was a barn burner to finish off the set.

The old pieces were beautifully mixed in with some incredibly mezmerizing newer tracks that I had no trouble at all getting into. One song, Given, was a great wandering ethereal piece, and another, White Dogs had this awesome Rolling Stones/Velvet Underground rolling bluesy swagger that had an awesome vocal key change in the chorus. Good, good stuff.

Coming out of Tom Boy, they seamlessly blended into a Liz Phair cover using a quick quote from Divorce Song to introduce a full cover of another of the Exile in Guyville songs, (Gunshy?) The cover was unbelievable because Carol has so much depth to her voice to pull off early Liz Phair effortlessly. Palomine and Exile in Guyville, released the same year with women lead singers pulling off rock songs without stooping to “Lilith Fair” folky schmaltz. It’s interesting to consider the huge disparity between the career arcs and artistic direction of Liz Phair and Bettie Serveert isn’t it.

The encore was pretty good, with a nice VU cover of What Goes On to close it out. Frankly though, their own White Dogs was a better version of this song. But considering that they apparently did an entire album of VU covers at one point, I suppose pulling out the VU cover was a way to appease the fans from even that period.

I think that’s the whole thing that I was left with at the end of the show. The band was so seemingly generous to it’s fans, giving all of their songs over a 10 year period equal billing and effort. Nobody does that. I recall an interview with Mac Maclaughlin of Superchunk where he said that they didn’t play Slack Mot*****er or Cast Iron anymore because they were 2 of the 10 songs that they knew early in their career, and they just got sick of playing them every night for 3 years.

It was the first time in a long while that I saw a show where the performers really seemed to be willing to play with their hearts on their sleeves. Maybe it’s the fact that Carol’s voice is just effortlessly full of emotion, maybe it’s all the experience, maybe it’s just a band with great songs. But considering that recently we saw the New Pornographers play a competant, but road weary show, and Yo La Tengo put on the most lifeless performance you could imagine, Bettie Serveert shone like the sun on one of those clear, crisp fall days. I left the show feeling old but still young and completely energized. It seemed like Beth and I kinda wandered for a while getting home, reminding of the days when a show like this would have put me in the mindset of finding an after bar party at somebody’s off campus house.

So if Bettie Serveert makes a stop in your town, go see ’em. You’ll be glad you did. Oh, and be sure to pick up the self-made live CD they’re selling after the show. It’s really good.

I actually spent the later part of last evening at a bar with my friend Tim. Yep, just two guys having beers and talking politics and books. Haven’t done that in a while. I didn’t get to eat pancakes or bagels this morning though, just cold cereal.

Beth did call me from Katz’s Deli where she had just had a transcendent pastrami and potato cake experience. I dunno, Curry in a Hurry for lunch was pretty good…

I suppose the dogs are the real losers here. They’re stuck in their crates at home all day.

I woke up this morning in Brooklyn.

No, that wasn’t a surprise, other than the fact that, ‘Hey! I’m waking up in Brooklyn!’

Just hanging out with my friend Jennie, walking around her neighborhood, eating a yummy sesame seed bagel with real cream cheese. Was I sad that I could only eat half? Yes and no.

Mom says all is well with Auggie. Tim is toiling away at work, paying for this trip (although I’ve only spent $30 thus far — yay, me! Yay, Jennie!). I’m having the best time in the world, just being with one of my oldest friends and soaking up the Brooklyn atmosphere…

Who wins? Just so you don’t feel too badly for my guys, when I called Mom this morning, she and Auggie were making homemade pancakes.

So that’s what’s up so far in NY.

Some new pictures are up

Yes, I know, it’s been a while, and our backlog of photos seems to grow every day. But here at least are a few more, getting us into July.

The desire to begin making scores of lists consumes me. My trip to New York must be just eight days away. Just long enough to start checking out the long-range forecasts (a perfect 68 degrees and sunny, Thursday and Friday).

Time to start planning what to wear, which shoes to take, what paraphernalia to tote along. Oh my, the lists I could make…

Today, my mom came up and we took Auggie to get his portrait taken. At Wal-Mart. I wanted to go to The Picture People, but Mom insisted that Wal-Mart would be so much cheaper. Wrong.

Plus, Auggie fell asleep in the car on the way there, so he was tired and cranky and totally did not want to be the center of attention. So we had to bribe him with Mini M&Ms (‘enanens?’ says Auggie). We got some decent shots, and I was sorely tempted to stick to my guns and only get the one pose package of 1.8 billion wallets for $3.88, but I have too much guilt to spend less than four dollars when the poor woman worked to cajole tiny smiles out of my grumpy toddler for over 30 minutes. Does anyone actually do this? If you can say no to all the upselling, my hat goes off to you.

In some sad family news, Fishy the fish is not doing very well. We’ve had Fishy for nearly a year now, and that’s pretty good, longevity-wise, as far as bettas go. But he’s stopped eating and is moving very little. I’m hoping that he’s only a little depressed with the change of the seasons, but I have no knowledge of fish health whatsoever, so I’m just trying to ease myself into the idea that Fishy may soon be acting sassy in that great fishbowl in the sky.

Is it wrong that I tear up thinking of Fishy’s demise?

You know how when life/karma/God/whatever decides that you need to learn something, it never does it one at a time, nicely spacing lessons out so that they can be mulled over and absorbed in due time? Instead, you are thrown into a whirlwind of “Think you got that? OK, now take this!”

Yesterday was another big one. And it’s going to sound so small to you.

Auggie played in the McDonald’s Playland. For those of you who are my age and fondly remember the big hamburger in the front of the store that you could climb up into, those days are gone. Now, they have some kinda crazy kid Habitrail suspended 12 feet off of the floor. Auggie had been bugging me for weeks since they remodeled the McDonald’s by our house, and I kept saying, “Tuesdays, Auggie. We go to McDonald’s on Tuesdays!” Yesterday, I said something about it being Tuesday, and Auggie finally put the pieces together. We had to go. After all, we were still celebrating the fact that he wasn’t kidnapped, right?

Anyway, somehow I get him to eat a bit of his Happy Meal (one of the dumbest phrases I’ve ever uttered: “Eat your cheeseburger, honey. Then you can have some more french fries.” I mean, like one is better for you than the other?!). Soon, he could wait no longer and so it was into the fifth circle of Hell. There was a whole YMCA camp-load of eight-year-olds there (why were these kids not in school?), so I was totally freaked out that he was going to be trampled. But Auggie headed right up that spiral staircase into the Habitrail with no trepidation.

The worst part was that, once he was up there, I had no idea where he was. I couldn’t see him at all. Why, oh why, do they not put clear plexiglass in the bottoms of these things? (Mental note: Email suggestion to McDonald’s post-haste.) So I’m walking around this thing, trying to get a glimpse of him through one of the tiny portholes into this thing. It was horrible, but I was trying to play it cool around the other mommies (like they were paying attention, anyway. The lone daddy was reading the dang Wall Street Journal while his two-year-old terrorized other kids. Guess McDonald’s isn’t exactly the number one place to visit for examples of good child-rearing skills, eh?).

Auggie had the best time. He kept climbing back down the stairs periodically to check in. Eventually, he even went down the twisty slide. Sigh.

I realize that he’s not moving off to college or learning how to drive, but I guess you have to learn to let go in stages. Baby steps for parents, or something.

Despite the fact that this could really make you think less of me as a mommy, Tim said that I should write this story up here for posterity. You know, one of those things to point to once August has his own precocious two-year-old and say, ‘You think you’ve got it bad? Look what you did to me!’

This afternoon, I was putting groceries away while Auggie played in the backyard. He was coming in and out of the kitchen and each time he headed out, I reminded him to stay in the backyard. (We’ve been working on that a lot lately, since Auggie often makes his way to the front yard and garage around the side of the house.) I went to put some veggies in the fridge and then glanced out the window. I didn’t see him on his playground. I went outside and called his name. Nothing. I stomped my way around the side of the house towards the front yard, thinking of how I was going to try to phase my reprimand for him this time to try to get the message to sink in. No Auggie.

I frowned and went back around the house, thinking that maybe he had come back inside the house while I wasn’t looking. He wasn’t anywhere inside. Now I’m beginning to get a horrible feeling down in my stomach. Where was he?

I went back out and ran out to the common ground that runs behind our house. He wasn’t there. So now I’m running back out front, looking in neighbors’ garages and up the sidewalk as far as I can see. I knock on our immediate next-door neighbor and ask if they’ve seen him. I’m way beyond the point of caring whether anyone thinks I’m a bad mom because I can’t find my toddler.

To tell you the truth, I couldn’t get over this horrible feeling that he was gone and I was never going to see him again. You cannot imagine the terror.

So I went back through the house — again — looking in every nook and cranny, just praying that this time I would find him playing quietly in a corner in his room. It’s back out to the yard, praying with every step that if God would just help me find my son, I would be perfect from now on. I was walking along the fence at the top of the hill at the back of our yard. It’s right in front of a wooded area and I was thinking that maybe he might be back in those trees.

All this time, I’m calling his name in all timbres and variations. That was another thing that was freaking me out. I couldn’t hear him at all. Normally, if I call his name, he will respond. The fact that I was calling and calling for him and hearing nothing in response meant that he couldn’t hear me, wherever he was. Suddenly, I was certain that he had wandered around front at the same exact moment that a kidnapper was turning around in our cul-de-sac and was taken.

Several times over this period, I was wondering if I should call Tim, who was on his way home from work. I had decided against it, thinking that there was nothing he could do anyway, other than drive way too quickly to get home. I was also wondering when to call the police. I mean, I had nothing to tell them, other than my son was gone and I had no idea where he was. I had no car description or anything.

I walked to the bottom of the hill and scanned the common ground one more time. And, eureka! Through the fence at the other side of the common ground, I saw Auggie, standing perfectly still, like a deer catching a scent, looking back at me. He had been playing in the backyard of the house that backs up to our common ground.

My two-year-old walked across the common ground, opened the gate and crossed a narrow drainage ditch to get to the neighbor boy’s toys.

Auggie and I had talked about this particular yard before. And, let me tell you, it is really hard to explain to a toddler why they can’t play in what is obviously (to them, at least) a park. They don’t get that you don’t just go into other people’s yards and play on their swings and teeter-totter or playhouse. In fact, this yard full of fun playground equipment was the inspiration for the slide playground-dealie we got for him earlier this summer. We had hoped that having his own super-fun playground would keep his attention off of the outdoor paradise that lay across the common ground.

I ran as fast as I could across the common ground, through the gate (which he had closed behind him, politely) and over the narrow drainage ditch and scooped him up, kicking and screaming because he didn’t want to leave. I was sobbing, hyperventilating with joy. I couldn’t believe that he was there, safe and sound!

Auggie had been missing for maybe ten minutes. It felt like at least ten hours.

I held him tighter than usual as we made the trek back to our yard, explaining in the calmest voice that I could muster that he had frightened mommy and we don’t play in other people’s yards without mommy’s permission. We reached the yard at the same time as my neighbors, who were nearly as relieved as I that Auggie was found.

My neighbor instantly made me feel better by telling me the story about the time her daughter did the same thing, except the neighbors took her inside and didn’t tell my neighbor. She was sure that her daughter had been kidnapped. Later, I called my mom and she told me about the time my brother fell asleep under a pile of quilts and no one found him for half an hour.

So maybe I’m not the worst mother ever in the history of time. And the cold reality is that I can’t watch him every second. But he’s probably going to be watched a little more closely than usual for the next few days. Absolutely no playing outside without me being right there with him, that sort of thing. Of course, this is all in addition to the fact that we’ve had to keep the doors locked at all times for months, since he knows how to work the door knobs and make his way outside alone.

This whole thing makes me think of Tim’s question a few weeks ago — can’t we just chip him like the dogs?

I’m going to be perfect, starting now.

I’m thinking of chucking it all and becoming a Democrat. Or something even more extreme, like a Green or something. Maybe I’ll just start my own party, and call it the Positive People Party or the Future is Super Awesome! Party.

Because I just can’t do this anymore.

Since I was able to form a political opinion, I have been conservative. Sure, on the social issues, I’m as progressive as they come, but on most fundamental things that government is about, I’ve always been a Republican.

How Republican? I voted for Bob Dole. Bob Dole, people. I voted against Bill Clinton (this was before Lewinsky, even) and for that fine, upstanding American who is as charismatic as a pay phone.

But lately, being Republican is making me feel even dirtier than the thought of being a Democrat. Between the Patriot Act, the war in Iraq and the party’s complete whacked-outtedness over gay marriage, I just can’t see myself voting another straight-party ballot. You heard me. I vote straight party, baby.

Maybe it’s all that time I spend hanging out at the lesbian coffee house (with my family, of course), but I just find myself needing something positive to look to. One night, we were there when the Kucinich people were having a meeting. In case you haven’t heard of this guy, he’s a Congressman from Ohio who wants to create a Department of Peace, to balance out the Department of Defense. At first hearing, this idea was the subject of intense derision for Tim and I. But then I heard him on NPR, and I was like, ‘Why can’t the world be like this?’

I built most of my beliefs in the Republican Party on a foundation of trust in American people. The trust especially included American corporations and their innate sense of doing the right thing for the country and their employees and customers. I cannot believe how naive that sounds now, but back before Enron and Worldcom and NAFTA, it wasn’t so silly.

Also, I was young. Did I mention that Rush Limbaugh and I share a hometown?

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I need there to be something good about the government. I need to think that our soldiers are fighting and dying for something. I need my friends who are awesome teachers to not be laid off from their jobs because their state governments don’t know how to live with a budget. I need to be able to listen to a politician for longer than two seconds without rolling my eyes and making a cynical comment.

Anyway.

The first time I ran a 10K (6.2 miles, for those of you who are metrically-impaired) was in 1999. Tim and I had trained fairly seriously for a few months beforehand. I suffered lots of setbacks with shin splints and other injuries, but that spring, I did it. I thought that I was going to die, but I did it.

Today, I ran 10K while pushing my son in the jogging stroller around the Forest Park loop (read: very hilly). Oh, and I ran it on Saturday too.

That’s right, my friends. Beth got tired of looking at those same numbers on the scale, week after week. 50 pounds — goodbye! Only 9 more to go.

Sigh. It only took me four and a half months to get off the last 10…